Stone Sense
by Boreal Peat
Summary: The Commander of the Grey and newest Paragon of Orzammar has been stretched thin these days. King Bhelen has tasked her to attend to her duties to her house. Part one: found a new thaig. Simple enough. Part two: start a family. Now, that's where it gets complicated, because you might say "what's good for the goose is good for the gander", but no one ever crowned a goose king.
1. Non-Obvious

Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Dragon Age, BioWare, EA, or any writers or content developers associated. There will be references to sex, alcohol, violence, cheating, and other things that are used by people as examples of the downfall of civilization.

I must be freaking out my usual subscribers; I typically do stories for a different BioWare game: Mass Effect, and I've been updating those stories the past couple days like a, quote, "madman". Still, though, I just recently replayed Dragon Age and have been getting into it again, and I figured, hell, why not do a F!Brosca fic? Because the weird main character is the best main character.

I'm doing something a little different with the Warden than I do with my Shepard, though; I'm actually going to use her first name from time to time, because "the Grey Warden" seems like a very good way to get everyone confused when there are so many Warden characters running around.

* * *

"_The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious."_

_-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations. 167 AD_

* * *

The first wardens, Stehldye decided some time back, had to have been dwarves. The strange thrumming she could feel in her skull from the darkspawn seemed to pulse from the same place in her skull as the dip and pull of her Stone Sense. Surely, without a dwarf around to teach them, the human and elven wardens would have been lost in navigating the feeling, likely only feeling and increased buzzing and not able to determine it's tilt or direction.

There are three dwarven Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden right now, and one of them had disappeared to her pending duties in the Legion. The other was in a (self-imposed) exile on the surface. As far as Orzammar was concerned, only one citizen was counted as a Warden, and that was their Paragon.

Their castless, warrior Paragon. Well, it was true; when the mountains shift, they shift all the way.

She didn't think herself as particularly proud of or loyal to her people before, and in truth, when she had originally left for the surface, she had dreaded returning. Then, when she had, she couldn't deny that something about it felt _right_. There wasn't a lot that she missed about her past life, but no human city could match the solid architecture and the warm flows of Orzammar.

The Warden-Commander mused on the connection as she idly sat in the royal palace of the Aeducans, because Alistair was performing matters for his court that Eamon was quick to point out didn't need the Warden-Commander on hand, and she apparently hadn't been get her fill of political nugshit from running an arling.

"Ah, my dear sister Paragon," Bhelen cheerfully chirped to announce his presence. "I'm glad to have found you; I have some things I'd like to discuss with you, but first-" He approached and handed her some missives. "-these came for you today, and someone in your position of urgency should always address their written correspondence before engaging in anything."

She accepted the letters with no preamble. It may have seemed strange, for a king to act as a delivery boy, but, in truth, this was not unusual behavior for him; Bhelen, first and foremost, was an operator, who knew that to be present during any important event was necessary in order to secure (or keep secured) one's position for the future. And the letters bound to her were certain to be important. She'd grown used to this and more of his conniving behaviors; at the end of the day, it brought success to his reign.

Besides, she came to envy how easily he could navigate the public sector, sliding through narrow crannies and knowing what ground was firm enough to put his foot down on. It was something she came to understand, but only as someone learns a second language at best. For Bhelen, this was what he lived, how he breathed. Once she learned to accept that, he became as invaluable a resource to her as she and her sister were to him.

She glanced through the letters quickly: an update from Varel on Vigil's Keep, some requests for aid of various sorts, an important-looking one with the King of Ferelden's seal (of course), and a letter from Weisshaupt.

She sighed as she opened the last one. "Another one from the First Warden."

"Oh? And what does he say?"

"The usual. An overview of some things happening with the Grey Wardens, some requests for advice on matters I'm sure are long decided before he sent writing to me. I've never even met the man, but I feel he's trying to either butter me up or _groom_ me for something."

"No reason it can't be both. I see King Alistair continues to not miss a mail call."

She snorted. "Sometimes I wish he'd stop using this seal for all our messages. I have no way of knowing if what's inside is important or not until after opening it. He thinks it's funny to tell me what he thinks about on the nights when I'm not around and slap the sodding royal crest on top of it." She popped the seal and scanned the message.

"As if you didn't also find it funny."

She barked a laugh and closed the letter again, putting it away for later. "Guilty." She opened the one from Amaranthine. "I'm about to commit Varel to a chasm if he keeps trying to pull me back early. Now he wants me back for the Joining of a new recruit."

"You're required to be present?"

"I wouldn't think so, but Oghren's in charge, and he'll probably try to get the rookie to drink the whole goblet. Honestly, it can wait; I'll send him note to keep reviewing their performance for now. Maybe they'll get cold feet and run off before I get back." She dispatched the rest quickly. "All right, what did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to discuss your intentions for House Brosca, now that your initiation into the noble caste is final."

"My intentions? In the Assembly?"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about that. Let me explain: your house, currently, is small. You can gain followers quickly, and I encourage you do so, but there are different things expected of a house. I don't imagine you will bend necessarily to what is expected, of course, and it's a good thing you don't, but you should think about your house having—well—a _house_."

She smirked. "Are you finally kicking me out of the palace?"

Bhelen threw back his head and laughed generously. "Come now, you're family and will always be welcome here. But let's be serious; a Paragon is a treasure to our city, our living ancestor, someone that the citizens look up to in showing how to lead them to prosperity. It may be time for you to look for a physical representation of your house."

She nearly blurted that Vigil's Keep should work, as the Wardens were as much of her house as anyone, but she decided against it. "I don't know if there's room in the Diamond Quarter."

"Not the Diamond Quarter. No. After all we've regained and with you as the sole reason for much of it, the Diamond Quarter wouldn't be sufficient. No, what I would suggest is to allow your house to flaunt the power of Orzammar you've helped regain."

The Diamond Quarter, living place of the noble caste and _jewel of the whole sodding city_, wasn't enough for a skull-knocking duster, now. "You want me to take one of the ancestral thaigs?"

"I want you to found a_ new thaig_."

"A new..." She trailed off and shook her head. "..._what?_"

"Stehldye, our city is finally expanding, but it doesn't mean anything to march on the same old soil over and over again. We're coming to a new era, and we can't keep squatting in our ancestors' ruins. We've regained lost thaigs, but we had lost more than ground to the darkspawn. We've lost legions of people a bright future that had once been manifest to us. As a Paragon, it is your duty to help us rediscover that."

She furrowed her brow, head whirring with the implications and with what it would take to do as he suggested. The Deep Roads as they were still had much wilds in the ruins; to expand past that would be an undertaking in itself. She wasn't, however, going to have time to digest this immediately.

"There's also the other thing we have lost to this long press: population."

"Population?"

He nodded. "It's no secret that the dwarves had been slowly dying off, dwindling in numbers, until recently. I'm working on various measures to foster growth: the increased rights as you are aware, the opening of our doors to surfacers, allowing some dwarves who have left to return, et cetera. But we don't breed like rabbits as humans do."

"What? Do you want me to get an herbalist to give us all fertility droughts?"

"Honestly, I'm already looking into that. Let me be direct: I said earlier that your house is small, and followers or no, you should look into bringing in direct blood. Rica is a Brosca, of course, but Endrin and any of her future children will be Aeducan. I know the Taint can complicate matters, but..."

"As ancient soot falls and chokes, you're seriously telling me to go get _pregnant_." She made an absurd chuckle at the situation. "For the good of the sodding city."

"I wouldn't say that was the _worst_ thing I ever suggested to you. As quickly as you can gain followers, you can doubly-fast gain as many _courtiers_ as you like, nevermind that Kalah has been approached time and again with marriage offers for you. You have your choice, and any walk of life would suffice, as you well know, so long as he's virile. It's something for you need to consider; if not, House Brosca will likely die with you, and Orzammar truly needs all the help it can get."

She fingered the fine vellum of the king's missive. "I'd rather not have to resort to my _mother's_ recommendations for marriage."

"Just promise me you'll think about it." Bhelen gave a good-natured clap on her shoulder and exited, allowing her to sit alone, again, with these new requests.

* * *

"Ah, Oghren. Good to see at least _one_ Warden with rank back in the keep." Varel continued to have a knack for saying what was on his mind without actually saying it; the skill of a seneschal. "Your visit back at the port off Lake Calenhad treat you well?"

"Yeah, yeah. Got chewed out a few times by the old lady, spat up on by the Nugget. Everything I went back to experience."

"And how is the babe?"

"She's doing great. Already destroying everything in reach of her grubby little hands." The dwarf chuckled. "Has a healthy set of lungs on her, too. I think she'll continue the line nicely. I take it the Warden-Commander is still off fixing up her house in Orzammar."

"Yes. She should be receiving word very soon about a new possible recruit. I'm hoping it would be enough to pull her back, but I somehow believe she'll still delay."

"A newbie, eh? What sort of sodding idiot do we have wanting to throw their life away with the rest of us this time?"

"Another dwarf, strangely enough. Dwarven Grey Wardens used to be rare in Ferelden, but now I believe Stehldye has changed the view of Grey Wardens to the nation in more ways than one. Technically, the Commander of the Grey needs to be present in his Joining, and I would like her to review him beforehand, but you _are_ the commanding officer while she is gone."

"I'll leave the final touches to her, but take me to him. I'll see if he can still stand after I run him through his paces, heh heh."

The rookie had been practicing in the courtyard with a pair of knives, reminding Oghren a little of Sig's fighting style, except his armor was far lighter than the armor of the Legionnaire scout, and looked as new as it could be. This would've given Oghren the impression that this was just some starry-eyed surface dwarf, but as he approached, he saw this was an older man with scars and splotches all over his skin. He'd seen more than a few fights, and from the marks that looked to be caused by an old sunburn over his hooked nose, he hadn't originally been a surfacer.

And the thick tattoo of a spider on his face gave away what everything else didn't. "You're the new guy, huh? I swear, I see more dusters outside Orzammar than I ever did in."

The man looked up at the Warden-Constable on the stairs above, confusion evident. "You can te-"

"That you covered the brand on your ugly mug with an even _uglier_ spider? If you thought that would make you blend more in a crowd than the brand, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought."

True to dwarven nature, the man wasn't offended, and instead laughed. "If I could've got my beard to grow upwards and cover it, I would've. You're Warden-Constable Oghren, right? I remember you, one of the best berserkers in the Warrior caste. Shame to leave all that behind."

"You must have been gone from Orzammar for a long time if that's all you remember. There ain't nothing in Orzammar left for me now."

"I won't ask. So, will I get to do this 'Joining' everyone keeps trying t' not take about, or am I going to be sent packing?"

"That's what we're going to decide right now." Oghren grinned with bloodthirsty glee and pulled his hammer from his back. "How about we see how far those knitting needles take you?"

"Yesser," he answered, and fell into stance.

Oghren, true to his reckless form, flung himself down the steps and slammed the hammer down from over head. The rookie had to dodge quickly to avoid being smashed, and thus he did, trying to round out to his opponent's side.

"I heard a drunken war-cry." Anders approached from behind Varel. "I see our heroic constable is back?"

"Yes, and he's testing the new recruit's mettle, as expected. He wants to wait until the Warden-Commander comes back to initiate the Joining itself."

"Speaking of, has there been any word on when she's set to return?"

Varel updated the mage on the situation as it was known while the spar continued below. Oghren had already succeeded in busting two training dummies that the newbie feinted by, and it was looking like the whole circle of them would need to be rebuilt. The rookie had managed two cuts on Oghren's skin, but the constable ended the fight early with an opportunistic headbutt. Dwarf or no, his opponent crumpled all the same.

"Hah! And my wife calls me hard-headed like it's a bad thing!"

"I certainly hope you don't do that to your wife," Anders sniped.

Oghren glared at the mage. "Aren't you supposed to be back at the Circle telling the kids bedtime stories?"

"I finished my lecture and came back, remember?" He came down and administered some light healing spells to the both of them. "Well? What's the verdict?"

"Feh. Like I can tell from one fight. We'll do another tomorrow. I need to get all this sodding road dirt offa me anyway." Oghren put away his hammer and looked like he was about to leave, but he appeared to change his mind. "What's your name, duster? Can't keep calling you new blood every time I see you."

The man shrugged. "Orr."

"Or what?"

"That's my name. Call me Orr."

"What kinda sodding drunks were your parents t' call you 'Orr'?"

"Ones that were too drunk to pronounce the whole birthplace."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

* * *

Some weeks ago, Alistair finally decided that, yes, he would rather wear the full ceremonial armor in court, rather than these thin, flimsy, yet still somehow constricting vestments that people of "his class" is expected to wear. He immediately undid the ties about his collar and loosened it. "How Teagan can wear that confounded vest is beyond me. Did I ever complain about not understanding the under-the-table politics in the court, Eamon? Because I bitterly regret knowing how it works, now."

"The only people who enjoy it are the people who cause it, if even them. I'm sure you're eager to escort the armies to the Free Marches."

"If it's between the two, yes," Alistair thought a moment and added, "Do you think we could depart through Jader instead?"

"I was thinking we'd depart directly from Denerim. Why in Thedas would you want to march so far east, first?"

"...Why do you _think_?"

"Hmm? Ah." Of course! The Frostback Mountains were on the way. "Yes, I see. You'd just sent her a message, didn't you? Still, it's been some months since she's been near. At least she was close-by when performing her duties as arlessa."

"Yes, nearby when I _wasn't_ being dragged around the Bannorn. Do you suppose it really is that much trouble to take care of establishing a new dwarven house? I _get_ she had to run over when she was named 'Paragon' for the official ceremony, but I don't think she's even been out on the _surface_ since then, let alone east of the lake."

"Kirkwall _does_ need your attention, Alistair, and the dwarves do always have their own matters to take care of. They may have her busy a while."

"Have I mentioned this is the longest Dye and I have been apart since we've met? That's including the Bannorn. Remember how much a wreck I was with that?"

"That's an exaggeration, and even if it were true, I'm sure it had to do more with the reports of intelligent darkspawn raiding the keep and trying to capture her every chance they got."

"Yes, and now she's in Orzammar, where they probably have her helping clean up the Deep Roads. You know the ones, where the darkspawn _live_ and Grey Wardens go to _die?_ Oh, and she has this funny story about how she almost joined the Legion of the Dead just to keep Beraht from dragging her into the mines on a job." Then he added, "You often talk about the importance of having my entourage separate from the main forces since we can more with more discretion. And we don't want all of our eggs in one basket anyway, right? Why not have the bulk transported the cheapest, quickest way for a large group, and we go by land with a small contingent to a cheaper port?"

The arl sighed. "Fine, you've convinced me, but we'll be departing from Highever. You can slip over quickly to Orzammar and back while I secure passage."

"You see? I can have good ideas."

That had been the end of the discussion then. Now, several weeks later, Arl Eamon was stiffly watching the king as he tightened the straps on his grey-iron heavy chain. "Are you sure that armor will do, son?"

"I went just fine without the silverite full plate before," Alistair reminded, "and I honestly like how drab it looks. If I don't look like a roving brigand, then I don't know what I'm missing."

"Your helmet, perhaps?"

"Right here. See?" He slid on the full helmet. "...Maker's ghost, I'll be _fine_, Eamon. I've traveled the road between Highever and Orzammar before. It's not even a long ride."

"You wouldn't need to resort to running off in the night like this if you'd just take a wife," Eamon said, "Stehldye could stay on hand and no one would have room to say you're shirking your duties by having her there."

"As if you didn't turn away just as many offers on my behalf. All I really care about is making sure we don't have a repeat of the civil war by having an heir. You're the one who gets all concerned about what _intentions_ these women have."

Eamon frowned. "Can you blame me in wanting to protect you from those humorless power-hungry women? I want you to be _happy_, Alistair."

"Yes, well, just because Isolde worked out for you doesn't mean I need a marriage to be happy." Alistair shook his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just anxious to get on the road."

"You have your supplies?"

"Of course. Send me word when you don't think you can wait any longer? I want to see if I can convince her to come at least as far back with me as the port to see me off. Besides, Bhelen has been _begging_ me to take advantage of his hospitality, and I wouldn't mind getting to relax with Dye's family for a bit. I only ever get to see Rica on official business."

"I'll see what I can do to give you time. Just be careful on your way."

"I won't be on the roads long." Alistair reminded, then snickered a little under his helmet. "If I'm lucky, I'll get there right along with my last letter."


	2. Brick and Marble

Disclaimer: Chapter one.

I had actually finished this chapter before publishing the first. I wanted to make sure some other stories were updated before starting up a new story, since I didn't want to scare my readers into thinking I've abandoned Mass Effect. So, you know, I decide to update like a maniac, instead!

* * *

"_Since the city was not adorned as the dignity of the empire demanded, and it was exposed to flood and fire, he so beautified it that he could justly boast that he had found it built of brick and left it in marble."_

_\- Suetonius, The Lives of the Twelve Caesars: Augustus. 121 AD_

* * *

Bhelen was right about one thing; it was easy for the Grey Warden to get followers for her house once she announced membership was possible and we was open to bringing in castless. More than a few were already hearing rumors (planted by the king's soldiers, no doubt) that she was looking for courtiers as well, and there were many men who were... eager to fill the position, so to speak. They didn't even shirk when she revealed her plan to go into the Deep Roads and found a thaig; indeed, attention flocked to her, and she found herself inundated with support from all sides. Apparently, they'd already forgotten their last Paragon's failure and were eager to cheer on a new one.

And, to be honest, after she had time to think about it, she was coming to very much like the idea. She even had a few ideas on where she'd like to go, and had been conferring with the Legion and the Shaper to zero in on where she wanted to march.

Rica, Bhelen, and even Kalah had blanched at the idea she had. She aimed to conquer the tunnels dug by the darkspawn, something that was already difficult in and of itself, but what really took the blood out of their faces was the tunnels she planned to take.

"Have you been breathing smoke? Yer trying to get yerself killed!" Kalah shouted and sneered; becoming sober didn't necessarily civilize her, it turned out. "Who is actually stupid enough to try to take the Dead Trenches!"

"It's not that insane. I'll only be taking one trench, and I'd gone through the fortress of Bownammar myself and helped the Legion retake several of the bridges." Stehldye reminded.

Rica cut in, worry and panic almost pouring from her. "But you're not talking about the bridges or even Bownammar. You're talking about taking one of the chasms themselves. Even in history when we had a firm hold of City of the Dead, we didn't have the chasms. If it wasn't full of darkspawn, it'd be plagued with other horrors. I still remember when you told me of when you looked down and saw the army of the Blight below." She shivered.

"Right, and now that the Blight is over, their numbers can't be nearly as numerous now as they were then. If there was a perfect time to take it, it would be now. I've been speaking with Kardol and he agrees that their numbers have reduced dramatically and has promised the full support of the Legion. And I've been speaking with several smithies to quote some orders to outfit who I need, and a couple even expressed interest in joining and keeping us supplied and repaired. Add on the support Ferelden has given to Orzammar and I can have a proper army for the undertaking within a week at most."

"And you can afford this?" Bhelen tried. The man was stuck between the anxiety of losing his trump card and the thrill of what it would mean to have such a victorious founding within his reign.

"My purse has gotten heavy with sovereigns since Amaranthine; nobles have been throwing money at me from left and right to have their issues resolved in the arling. It's a better way of earning money than the damn chantry boards ever were. Besides, you know very well I know a thing or two about leading and outfitting an army, and I've never had such an easy time of it as I have now."

"But this is a suicide mission!" Rica turned to her husband, "Please, Bhelen! Talk some sense into her!"

"It's very risky," the king spoke slowly, measuredly, "but if anyone could do this..."

"Bhelen!"

"I'll start out ahead with a small band so we can start getting footholds for everyone else to fill in," Stehldye continued, "That will allow me to begin immediately and give the army more time to gather and get in formation behind me, in case there are any last minute changes like there always are. I'm going to trust the commanders I worked with during the battle at Denerim to make sure everything is set; I've worked with them before, and I feel confident in their abilities. Of course-" She turned specifically towards Bhelen. "-I need the Legion to assure complete success since they know the stone there the best, so I need your approval."

"Bhelen," Rica pleaded again.

"I... will allow it." Tears spilled from Rica's eyes and she gasped.

Stehldye, on the other hand, beamed gratefully. "Wonderful. I'll go now and get to work; I'll let you know when I'm going in and how long after that you can expect the army to follow. Just send word to the Legion; they'll know what to do." She left, a clatter of volcanic aurum. Rica left soon after, fleeing to her bed chambers.

Kalah slid her eyes over to the king and sniffed.

Bhelen left to his offices.

* * *

"So, Varel tells me the commander will be a while."

Oghren looked at Nathaniel from where he was working on his brew. "She say what errand her brother-in-law has her on, now?"

"She's apparently off 'founding a thaig'. That's a settlement, isn't it? She seems to think it won't take very long, but I would suspect all the building..."

"Depends if she's building it from scratch or claiming an old one, and either way, I'm sure she'd be leaving the building part to the settlers. She'd just be... what do you call it... _trailblazing_."

"You don't call it trailblazing in Orzammar?"

"We don't need a word for cracking darkspawn skulls until they go away."

Nathaniel sighed. "Well, that is definitely a skill she has in spades. I suppose you're right; she may be back in a fortnight. Though Varel said something about getting rooms prepared for her..." He paused to remember the word. "..._courtiers_ when she comes back?"

"Whoo, that so?" He chuckled as he worked. "Heheh, about time. I wonder if Bhelen is pushing them on her or if she's just collecting them for fun."

"I'm going to regret asking..." Anders approached, "...but what is a _courtier_ supposed to be in this context?"

"You know, male concubine. Gigalo. Boytoy. Except a Paragon like her's gonna have a whole _harem_ of them."

Anders smiled a nice, wide leer. "Oh! Then I retract my prior statement."

Nathaniel wasn't as amused. "She does know people get _hanged_ for adultery in Amaranthine?"

"Yeah, yeah. You sodding Fereldans always have to be such _prudes. _And they're perfectly legal in Orzammar, for your information. Hell we _need_ them; we don't breed every time we bump uglies like you humans, and having children is a hell of a lot more important to us than 'keeping the line pure'. I'll tell you, Orzammar might be backwards about a lot of things, but sex ain't one of them."

"Why are we talking about sex in Orzammar?" Orr was approaching, having just finished some chores that had been delegated down to him as the newest recruit. His breeches at the knees were still damp with soapy water.

The Warden-Constable didn't even look up from where he was working. "Like you'd remember. I bet you forgot the pleasantries along with your Stone Sense."

Anders, ever helpful, supplied the catch-up to the conversation. "Our dear Commander of the Grey has let us know she may be coming back with some courtiers, and our dear Howe is worried it may reflect badly on her. I, for one, look forward to it. I bet being a courtier is a lot of fun. Say, you think she'd take in a human mage to the party?"

"Her?" Oghren snorted. "Probably. And that Antivan elf if he ever shows up."

Orr, instead of being amused or at the least agreeable to the main focus of the discussion, took on a sour face. "Excuse me a moment."

Oghren finally pulled his head out of the cask. "Huh? Hey, you ain't sore about the Stone Sense jab, are ya'?"

"I think it was the courtier discussion. Could be it's a sensitive issue?" Anders added, almost as an afterthought. "Or maybe he's a little jealous. He's a dwarf man coming to join under the dwarf woman's banner, after all."

"Naaah, I don't think he's jealous. I can hear the Howe boy shaking in rage since the subject came up, though."

"_Me?_" Nathaniel said, scandalized.

"The constable has a point," Anders agreed conspiratorially. "And don't try to deny it. You're always just a few words away from saying something stupidly serious to her. You'd best be careful the king doesn't catch wind of it or you may find yourself joining your father."

"Why should _I_ have to worry? _You're_ the one constantly flirting with her and talking about joining her... _brothel_."

They didn't respond to that. Instead they both just grinned big, wide, shit-eating grins.

"To the Void with you both!" He hissed, frowning even as an angry blush flared all the way down his neck. "I'm going to go prepare the rooms for her _courtiers_."

As he marched off, Anders snickered towards Oghren. "I told you we should form a club! It'll be good for the dour chap to get ganged upon."

* * *

There were a lot more humans and other topsiders in Orzammar now than there had been the first time Alistair had come, but he still felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was glared at no less than three times on his way to the Royal Palace in the Diamond District, and though part of it he was sure had to do with no one recognizing him in this shoddy armor, it did bring him unpleasant memories of how poorly they treated Dye here during her first return.

Intuiting that it would just get worse from this point on, he removed his helmet to allow his face to be seen as he approached the door. The change in attitude was immediate; the guards looked suitably abashed and made sure he had room to pass.

Inside, he had passed many house members and attendants before hearing the distinct and alarming cries of a woman. The training the chantry pressed into him on how to be a gentleman seized him, and he was torn shortly on whether or not it was his place to interfere, but he erred on the side of being a decent person and finding out what was wrong. He followed the cries and found a familiar red head buried in the shoulder of her mother.

"...Rica?" Alistair spoke with caution. The woman looked up from where she wept and flung herself up towards him, her mother rising with her.

"King Alistair!" She sniffed and rubbed her eyes in a vain attempt to make herself look presentable. "I-I didn't know you were coming. Pardon my... forwardness, but _please_ tell me you've come to stop her."

_Don't panic. Don't panic. You don't know what she's talking about and you're just nervous since it's been a while since you last saw them._ "Stop... who? Dye?" His voice hitched high. _Damn._ "Is she... doing something she shouldn't be?"

"She's going on a suicide mission straight into the sodding horde in the Dead Trenches!" Kalah spat angrily. "That stupid girl!"

"Horde? The trenches?"_ DON'T PANIC_. He tried to speak slowly, to keep his cool. Instead it made his voice come out in a series of halted squeaks. "She... went into the Deep Roads on a..." He didn't finish, because surely he misheard.

"A sodding suicide mission!" Kalah repeated, stomping her foot. "Didn't give _us_ any damn mind, either! Just ran off with the Legion of the Dead to get herself killed! And all because our idiot king got that _idea_ in her head-"

"Aha! King Alistair!" Bhelen was now rushing into the room, Vartag Gavorn in tow. They looked to have been in a hurry to get back from wherever they had been. "Had I known you were coming, I would have made sure you'd receive a proper welcome for your arrival."

Alistair, whipped around. "_Where is Stehldye?_"

"Ah, I was actually just about to send out a letter to you for her, but since you're here..."

"Bhelen!" Alistair approached and, intentional or not, towered intimidatingly over the dwarf king with all his height. "Where. Is. She?"

Vartag pulled out his weapons at the implied threat, but Bhelen, for his worth, looked up at Alistair and didn't bend back or show any sign of being shaken. "Of course. Let me take you to our War Room. We can discuss everything more thoroughly there."

"The... War Room?"

"Certainly. She's informed me of all her intentions in the new thaig, since she needed my approval. I can show you exactly where she's going and how you can catch up with her."

Alistair quieted, and though the walk was terse and (he suspected) longer than it needed to be, it did serve to calm him down. He was brought to a large, low desk with several different large parchments strewn across it. Bhelen, invited Alistair to do so as well, and went Vartag away. The right-hand-man didn't appear to want to leave at first, but he relented with a bow of the head.

"I was just coming back from seeing her off, when I heard you had come, so I apologize for the rush. Now, see here." He pulled out a map that, Alistair recognized after a moment, was probably Bownammar for all the bridges. "The first trench here is where she intends to attack. The numbers from the darkspawn have decreased significantly enough from the Blight that she believes she can press through and take the trench itself. After this is done, she intends to hold it until proper fortifications are made, and turn this trench into a new thaig."

"She's... founding thaigs, now?"

"It's not such a strange thing for a Paragon to do," Bhelen responded, and then proceeded to bring Alistair up to speed on the plan, explaining the followers she had gathered and the resources she had at her disposal. "And to be honest, when I approached her with the idea, I didn't think she'd take on an entire _trench, _but her confidence convinced me."

"So, this _is_ your doing? You're not in the least bit worried about what might happen?"

The lines on the other king's face tightened nearly imperceptibly before they fixed back in their place again, and Alistair could almost swear he'd seen something of Bhelen's true feelings in there. "If she should come to fail, our family would be in mourning, but there are things that even a king doesn't question of a Paragon."

Alistair looked back down and imagined the lines that were drawn, but over that could still clearly remember the first time he'd entered the Deep Roads, the churning river of torch-lit darkspawn, and the oppressive emergence of the Archdemon.

And that's precisely where she's going, into the middle of the horde. "I'll set out for her immediately."

Bhelen nodded and stood. "I'll have Vartag find you suitable armor from my own supply for you and he will accompany you."

"That isn't necessary-"

"I insist. What sort of host would I be to let you into the Deep Roads in that shoddy grey iron with no guide? Don't worry; Vartag's Stone Sense is excellent and he will catch you up to her quickly. And that will give me just enough time for us to discuss the _other_ duty to her new house I'd brought to her attention."

"_Please_ tell me it's not going to make this first one look trivial in comparison."

"It may. I have heard of the effect of the Taint on a Grey Warden's fertility." He opened the door and poked his head out to give the necessary orders while Alistair processed that.

"Fertility?" Alistair mumbled, more to himself than Bhelen. "So, she is... expected to..."

"Much like your situation, I understand. You've been looking to marry a queen and obtain an heir for the crown, right? Though from what I've heard, you've been dragging your feet about it. It's too bad that concubines are frowned upon on the surface. You may be able to get one much more quickly otherwise, and then you'd be free to marry who you wished." He shrugged.

"I... suppose. So, is Stehldye going to be taking... concubines?"

"We tend to call the males 'courtiers', but yes, that's the idea. It's necessary, for her house but for our own race's dwindling numbers. I also need her to review some offers for marriage, but we haven't really had the chance yet before she threw herself into the new thaig."

Alistair was sure his face was scrunched up in a deep frown, but he couldn't school his muscles out of it. _Well, I can't very well fault her, can I?_ Though the more he thought about it, the more he thought about her attitudes towards sex. Zevran, the Pearl, whoever it was she managed to find in Eamon's estate at Denerim... he said he cared about where her _feelings_ lie, and that was true, but he couldn't help but think she saw the "courtier" part of the arrangement might be more of a _perk_ than a _duty_.

_This is what I get for leaving her alone so long while looking for a wife, isn't it?_

Bhelen's voice brought him back to the conversation. "I thought, considering how... close the two of you are, you should be made aware of the situation."

"Yes, well, now I am," Alistair sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I mean... thank you, for letting me know. You're of course being the damned picture of hospitality, and here I am barreling through like an ungrateful, headstrong barbarian."

Bhelen waived it away. "You're worried about her. It's understandable. I was actually going to be sending out her mail for her upon my return, but I should give you her response to your last letter now." He pulled out a thick stack of vellum and handed Alistair one.

Alistair would have commented on why a king would be running such an errand, but the brilliant, almost glowing blue of the wax seal took his attention. "What's this?"

"The new seal of House Brosca. We've even mixed the same lyrium-byproduct used as the pigment in that warpaint she prefers into the wax. I convinced her she should use it on all her correspondence with you from now on. Seeing as you're King of Ferelden."

"I-I see..."

"You know, when she left, she also insisted on bringing your last letter with her, even though I'm _certain_ she's already read it."

He gaped and felt a flush run up his forehead and down his chest, then groaned and leaned back. "Andraste's flaming sword, she _told_ you about that, didn't she?"


	3. A Thousand Kisses

Disclaimer: Chapter one.

Woo! Not nearly as popular as my ME fics, but I'm not really surprised. Still fun to write, and that's all that matters.

* * *

"_Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet thousand, then a hundred."_

_-Catullus, Poem 5. circa 54 BC._

* * *

Progress had been quick on the first day. Stehldye announced a break for the night while she updated the vellum and made notes about different aspects of the caverns and crannies they came across. She was no smith or miner, but the surface did not dull her Stone Sense, yet, and she wanted to make full use of it along the way. After all, they were going to have to make this road not only accessible, but safe to use later.

As they settled down, she used that ability to find a significantly small enough cranny for herself, her gear, and just enough room left over to do her work. A smokeless lamp she purchased for the venture flickered its light as she scribbled and drew, making notes in the margins. Her fingers were black with the charcoal before she was done. Wiping her hands on a rag she used to clean her armor, she laid back and opened her last letter from Alistair for some "light reading" before bed.

Even with her momentary privacy, however, she made sure her reading was quick and chose not to bring herself too deeply in the things he was thinking about doing to her from the other side of Ferelden; she had a strong suspicion that two of the men she had brought with her were posturing about, trying to get her attention as potential mates, and wouldn't it be something if they found her with her hand in her pants when she was just trying to relax before sleep?

She didn't want to think about that. Sure, she used to liked sleeping around, but toward the end of the Blight she'd... stopped. She'd like to say she'd just gotten over the novelty of surface men, and she did her best to encourage Alistair to branch out a little, if only to be even, but...

_And I know you,_ he'd written on after he'd gone into detail about where he'd prefer to keep his ears rather than with the prattle of Denerim nobility, _and although it would make the meetings that much more interesting, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't get away with it in court without me getting tarred and feathered and you getting publicly flogged for being some sort of adulterous witch-dwarva bent on stealing the throne for your brother-in-law. I'd rather not have __someone else__ publicly flog when I could do it, and though I'm sure we'd have a __much__ better time of it, people'd get upset and we'd be right back in the mess we started._

She couldn't help but smile at that. King Alistair was a man of milestones, in office and in battle just as he was in romance, and outside of the surfacer taboo of keeping sexual matters quiet, he had no problem pushing boundaries right along with her once he reached them.

_Ah, my love. I again wrote most of the letter telling you what I'd do to you if you were here, but not about how much I miss you. If anyone else were to read this, they'd spread rumors all across the court about how their king was a deviant pervert lusting after powerful dwarven women. I'm not going to say that isn't true (and it's absolutely your fault that it is!), but as much as I miss... all that... with you, I more miss just being with you. The bed in the castle is large and comfortable enough, sure, but I'm beginning to believe that the best nights of my life were spent wrapped around you beneath a thin tent with the Blight making a racket in our heads as we slept._

_Don't worry, I will do everything I described to you eventually, but first, I would just like to kiss you, to be near you. I've been sneaking out a lot to the taverns by the docks, and I keep thinking I'd love to bring you with me and just walk the way with you, holding hands. It's sounds silly, doesn't it? That the thing I want the most right now with my absent mistress is to hold her hand and take a walk to the waterfront, talking about armor and darkspawn and whatever else. But I fantasize about it every time I go. I imagine that you're right here beside me, and I can almost feel your rough, little hand in mine._

She scoffed a little at that. "At least he got the rough part right."

_I miss you so much. Let me know when you're coming back in the next letter, will you? If you won't, I swear the next letter will be just me writing "I miss you" over and over for several pages. And don't think I won't follow through; I'm very close to scratching our names together all over the throne's armrests like some besotted teenager as it is, and this is a slightly less insane way to express my daily frustration._

She knew he wasn't bluffing; he'd done something similar before when she was in Amaranthine and she wasn't keeping him up-to-date with the goings-on there. Except instead of a silly letter, she'd received a messenger whose only purpose was to follow her around—absolutely _everywhere—_until she gave him something to bring back to the king. What she sent back was a full report, down to the minutia of the local trade. It was the driest thing she ever wrote, ending with a very terse admonishment of his abuse of authority and that the boy he sent could've been killed during his errand when she went to the Blackmarsh.

_I can't think of anything else to write, so I'll leave you to whatever it is a Paragon does when they aren't looking for dangerous, soul-stealing anvils. (Not "more anvils", I hope.)_

_Yours always,_

_Alistair_

"Yours always," she repeated aloud, frowning and folding up the papers to put back into her pack.

* * *

Alistair didn't think Vartag Gavorn, a straight-forward and bossy man, would make very good conversation while traveling the Deep Roads, and he was right.

Not that he wanted to talk to him, necessarily, but the trip was uneventful as it was. If there were darkspawn along the way, Stehldye and her group had already taken care of them. All Alistair could take from the experience was that they were going up, and down, and through some very winding passages very quickly. He attempted to engage a couple times at small talk, but not knowing what dwarves talk about (not the weather, certainly), he gave up on the attempt very quickly.

In fact, he was surprised when, several hours in, Vartag had said something other than an implied order to follow him through another strange opening or crevice. "Is 'Stehldye' a name from the surface?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I apologize, your highness, I'm aware that flew out of the chasm," Vartag said. "But I had wondered, and you knew the Paragon much longer than I have."

"As far as I know, she was named for her father. A last-ditch effort from her mother to get him to stay, as I'm told."

"Is that so? Strange. Stehldye isn't a very masculine name. Among dwarves, that is."

"She was named for him, but I believe it was changed to reflect that she was his daughter. Why not ask her yourself?"

Vartag gave a strange look that Alistair didn't miss, then looked back out ahead. "I guess I could have."

"O...kay... Well, then, if I may ask you a question, since you've known King Bhelen much longer than I?"

"Go on."

"I get the feeling he's not... entirely behind Stehldye's plan for a new thaig, but it's his idea, isn't it?"

"Kind of a strange question."

"Is it? He isn't the type of person who allows people to move against him, to put it mildly."

Though the words could certainly be slander against his king, Vartag didn't seem to react in offense. "You speak truth. Fine. She intends to do the impossible, and he worries he'll lose the Paragon he gains such support from."

"Then why go along with her plan at all? He said himself that she needed his approval for the use of the Legion. He could have said no. I doubt she would've gone forward without his backing."

"Hah. And if your Andraste rose from where she was buried and said to you she would hand your kingdom an expansion into Orlais with a grand battle, would you tell her 'That's very kind of you, but I'd rather you just stood around and looked pretty'?"

"Andraste was cremated, not buried. And that's not exactly the same thing."

"Isn't it? Do you know what it means to be a Paragon to the dwarves?"

"Of course, but I seem to remember a certain noble with machinations to become king suggesting that if the last Paragon didn't work out, maybe we should let him know about her... unfortunate end, instead of bringing her back."

"Paragon Branka didn't rise up from the dust to defeat the Blight, then come back with a human army to defeat what was left at our gates despite how she was treated. She didn't perform miracles and convince humans to pour titles upon her entirely by her merits."

Alistair blinked. _Wait a second..._ "That _is_ a point. Say, Vartag, you're of the noble caste, right?"

"Aye, of House Gavorn. Why?"

"Nothing, no reason." _Maker, he's one of the suitors, isn't he? I am _not_ prepared for this. _"Let's just... continue on, shall we?"

* * *

_The children die. Do not think of it. You will make more, _the faraway voice sang and murmured.

_Are you not comfortable? So far beneath the rock. No one can reach you. No rain can chill you, no wind can pull you. And if someone dangerous does approach, throw the children at them. You will make more, my beauty._

_Let them protect you as you protect yourself. Let them feed you the flesh of your betrayers. The ones that deserved death. The ones that no one mourned. Feast upon their marrow, and bring your children to me._

_Broodmother._

Stehldye awoke with a start from a dead sleep. Had anyone been in her little chasm to see, she would have made them jump for sure. "What sort of sodding, tainted nonsense..." She sighed and put it to the back of her mind. She had more important things to do right now than think about what her blasted Grey Warden dreams meant. _How humans and elves can get anything done with their sleep getting interrupted by this brontoshit is beyond me._

The dreams always were a little worse in the Deep Roads. If it weren't for that, she'd have the best sleep of her life in these chasms, at least compared to the thin tents at camp and the _constantly_ creaking and shifting buildings humans threw together out of pebbles and mud.

"Well, let's get going. We have a lot of ground to cover and the sooner we get there and start working, the sooner we can bring in the settlers." she said as she exited. The men looked up at her, all eager to please, and got their gear together without a word of protest.

The darkspawn were getting thicker, a sign that they were getting close. To be completely honest, this was the sort of thing she felt the most right doing. Making tough decisions... sure, she can do that from time to time, but it wasn't what she was raised doing. In Dust Town, the biggest her decisions could affect were three others besides herself, and though they could mean life or death for any of them, these the most important people in her life, the answers changed drastically as the scale changed.

And a family? That was _Rica's_ job for her whole life. She was the motherly one, the caring one, the one who knew how to calm people down, take care of their mother, and educate children. Stehldye was a good talk, sure, and maybe she knew how to care about her troops, but she didn't have anything remotely matronly or nurturing about her.

Bashing heads, on the other hand? She can do that until the Ancestors came home. It was the one thing she was truly good at. And the whole Grey Warden thing just specialized that skill a little more. If she was going to found a sodding thaig, then she might as well go about it with her whole worth. And Orzammar, grand and terrible Orzammar, needed her most for that quality.

But is that what Orzammar will need the most from her for the foreseeable future?

The men she had with her, not having worked along side a Grey Warden in such a capacity before, seemed in a perpetual state of awe on how she could sense the darkspawn attempts at ambush time and time again. They were eager to compliment on it, and never let it be said that a dwarven man didn't know how to flatter a woman. There was something comforting and familiar about it, even if it wasn't the most welcome attention for the moment.

No doubt her prospects for marriage were just as eager, whoever they may be. _Ugh_, she had no interest in the noble caste of Orzammar, as much as they defer to her now. They were still rotten with politics, and she didn't have any wish to have _two_ Bhelens in her life, and certainly not one in her _bed_.

What did that leave? Warrior caste, maybe? She'd kicked their asses before she left Orzammar. Hell, she'd marry Leske and let him take his own concubines just to get her best friend out of the dust—if that were an option, the sodding idiot. It doesn't have to be a dwarf, does it? Zevran would _flourish_ in this atmosphere. He sent messages from his travels often, so she could get a proposal to him without much trouble...

And then she'd have to have a big ceremony for the marriage, and she'd need to invite everyone she knew, even Alistair. _Especially_ Alistair; it'd be an insult if she didn't invite the King of Ferelden and fellow Grey Warden to her wedding. Which would be fantastic, because her friendship with Zevran was the only time Alistair had ever really showed any jealousy.

Not that it wasn't undeserved: she had even slept with Zevran _before_ Alistiar, while she was already in a relationship _with_ Alistair. It didn't occur to her until after the fact (ignorant of how surfacers court as she was) that what she had done may have hurt him, and that he might not have even _known_ about the sex. He may have just been acting on the assumption that she was _about_ to have sex with Zevran and could break up with the virgin with cold feet when she found a more willing partner.

She never discussed it more thoroughly with Alistair. With the Blight and the Landsmeet looming, it didn't seem wise to pick at wounds that may or may not be healing when either of them could be stuck with an arrow to the heart or a Genlock axe to the skull tomorrow, and he seemed happy enough when she assured him that the assassin didn't steal away her heart and offered a kiss as proof.

_Wouldn't that be something?_ She laughed to herself. The men likely thought she was amused at the blood-spatter she made of the emissary she'd just slain. _I'd hate to see his face if I found a spouse faster than he did, especially when he nearly broke up with me over the idea of marriage before. And if it ended up being Zevran I married to... Stone, forget about breaking up with me; he'd kill me this time! _She chuckled again, and another darkspawn fell. _Well, he couldn't hire Zev to do it, at least._

The last fell, but there was still a buzz in the back of her head. _Strange_. The others relaxed, but tensed up as bowstrings when they saw her still watching.

_Bah, my head's just messing with me,_ she thought. The feeling had a vibration to it that she could describe in one of two ways: a large deposit of raw gypsum, or Alistair. _There are darkspawn corpses everywhere and I'm sure a vein of the damn crystal somewhere near by._

"Dye! There you are!" his breathless voice called from behind.

She nearly jumped straight out of her skin.

There was the King of Ferelden himself, wearing some fine noble caste armor running up with a school boy's particular glee, and Vartag scrambling shortly after. "Surprised to see me?"

"You have no idea. What are you doing here?"

"Sodding Grey Wardens!" Vartag called after. "He stumbles through like an overtall lout most the journey, and just when I was about to suggest we stop for the night, he breaks out into a run and ducks through the crannies and climbs about like he was part spider! I nearly fell into a crevice of gravel trying to keep up. Why couldn't you move like that the whole way?"

"Well, I couldn't feel the darkspawn and my fellow Grey Warden until now. A shame we missed the fight, though." He looked around at the corpses, even nudging one aside with his foot to look over her handiwork. "Making quick work of them as usual, I see. No wonder it was so hard catching up."

"You know me, never happy unless I'm killing things. But what are you _doing_ here?"

"Waiting on passage to Kirkwall. Eamon is in Highever securing a ship, and I had thought, since Orzammar was so near by..."

"Orzammar _isn't_ near Highever! And why didn't you leave straight from Denerim?"

It wasn't possible for Alistair to sneak a kiss from her. He was far too tall and she would be able to see his intentions from a mile away. Still, he surprised her somehow with his lips on hers, his tongue sliding between, and for the first time in a while, she felt her own body flush up and down from the contact.

How was Mr. But-What-About-Our-Audience just _doing_ that? Here? _In front of an audience?_

When it ended, he didn't pull away and stayed in his crouch she just realized he'd stooped into. "I missed you," he purred softly, and her hair nearly stood straight on her head for the shocks running through her spine.

_What are you doing?! Trying to stop my heart dead?_ "I... missed you, too?"

He smiled and straightened from her, but one of his large hands kept its grasp on her shoulder and showed no intention of leaving. The other men in the reacted each their own way; some bristled, some coughed and looked away sheepishly. She noticed Vartag was of the first set.

"So! We have some darkspawn to eradicate as usual, right? Think you can lead the way, dear Paragon of mine, for old times sake?"

She rose a brow at him. _If this is how he wants to play..._ "So you can find guidance in my 'swaying hips', your highness?"

His jaw dropped. The whole party had long assumed she didn't listen to their prattle as they traveled, and she was glad to finally tease him like he was her.

But then he recovered far too quickly and smiled. "You may not be able to sway them at all when I get through with you."

She swallowed.


	4. Snatched Away

Disclaimer: Chapter one. It gets risque towards the end of this chapter, so if you're the type to avoid, you can just stop reading the chapter when the characters get too touchy-feely. Or you can skip _to _there, if that's your game.

Those who have been following me must have noticed that my manic update schedule has stopped, but that does not mean that I am out! I am working on more chapters of... stuff... and you can look forward to seeing some of it on the near future (maybe not _tomorrow_ near, but near).

* * *

"_I started to write of arms and bloody wars in hexameters, suiting my subject to the meter, but each second verse came out crippled: Cupid had laughed and snatched away one foot."_

_-Ovid, The Amores: Book I. 16 BC_

* * *

Okay, _maybe_ Alistair was acting a little... _possessive_.

But could anyone really _blame_ him? He hadn't seen the love of his life in months, and now she has probably a dozen suitors and who knows how many men running to be "courtiers" (Isn't that the word they use in Orlais to describe attendants in the royal court? Maybe the dwarves adopted the word as a joke). She'd helped Alistair with his own rule like she promised, sure, but Bhelen kept dragging her back and making these ridiculous (and dangerous) requests of her whenever Eamon mentioned that she didn't need to be on hand _all_ the time.

How _did _Bhelen know when and how to call her away so efficiently, anyway? Does the dwarven king have a spy network on hand? Okay, that's a stupid question; no way someone like Bhelen doesn't have people like that on hand.

But nevermind the dwarven king, let's think about the Paragon. How she had been listening to him and Wynne speaking the whole time _(She probably heard everything else, too!),_ but even better, how shocked she was to see him and for his kiss. For the first time in _ever_ he was catching her off guard with his advances like she had before with him. Victory was very... uh...

Well, he was proud of himself, sure, but isn't it a little odd that she's acting so passive about it?

_She has a lot on her mind! _he reminded himself, _Founding a thaig, starting a family, getting married to... not me..._

He had the urge to grab her, turn her around from where she marched on point, and kiss her again. Kiss her until her head span and she was breathless with moist, swollen lips, then go in for another for good measure. _I have to do the same thing!_ he reminded himself urgently, _I can't act like she doesn't have the right to get married!_

Because she does. She absolutely does. And she was more than willing to stand on the sidelines for him. At the very least could he not promise the same for her?

_And how many men has she already "tested out" while she's been here? _his mind offered poisonously.

_Nnnnnope! I will _not_ think about that._ He pulled out the letter he'd received earlier. "You know, my love, Bhelen gave me something before I left the palace."

"Other than the armor?" She glanced back and her eyes went wide at the sight of the unbroken, almost glowing blue seal.

_Okay... not sure if that's a good sign or not._ "I hadn't read it yet. Perhaps I should read it now?" _Out loud, _he quietly implied.

"Um... perhaps it's better we wait until we're not going through darkspawn territory, your highness. We don't want the distraction."

"Oh, so the letter's a distraction, is it?"

"Take it as you will," she sighed.

He frowned, and was glad he didn't have to ponder it any further, as the niggling in his head warning of an imminent darkspawn attack started. The warning settled over Dye as well, and they set in front, shields up together as they acted the point of a wedge, and the first Hurlocks were slammed to the ground before they knew what hit them. Not long after, they broke through and found where the tunnels down from Bownammar.

The Legion of the Dead, as planned, was already there, making hell at the flank.

It was short work to rid the rest of the darkspawn at this interval, at the gates of the first trench. Stehldye sent one of her own back towards Orzammar to bring orders of the rest of the army to follow where the Legion had cleared through the wider parts of the roads. They can set their foothold here before the final press.

She took a moment between giving orders out to look up at Alistair and give a toothy smile, and for the moment it was everything he had missed.

* * *

"Thank you for helping me with this, Orr. Oghren or Sigrun usually come with me on these trips to the ruins of Kal'Hirol to meet with the dwarves that have set up there, so I'm glad I could convince you to come as a replacement."

Orr shrugged. "I don't see why you can't go alone. They're going to be a lot nicer to you alone than with a duster."

"My knowledge of dwarven culture is limited to what I've learned from my fellow Grey Wardens, and while Oghren might be Constable and technically in command at the moment, I'm the one tasked to keep the arling itself in order. Given my... history, the Warden-Commander feels it's best for me to be given the most power as to the arling's function. And I doubt that even if they _can_ tell you're castless they'll say anything about it. They'll assume you're a Warden, and they would not be far off in that assumption."

The dwarf hummed. "Didn't think've it that way. They never give the Commander hell for her brand?"

"If they do, they know better than to do so to her face."

Orr nodded in understanding. "I guess 'ats one way to show'm."

Nathaniel thought for a moment. "Say, Orr, may I ask something?"

"Go ahead, Sneaky."

"Why do you want to become a Grey Warden? You must know that it isn't exactly... easy."

"Why did you? Didn't the wardens kill your daddy?"

Nathaniel frowned. "I didn't want to, not that I regret it now. The commander drafted me with the Right of Conscription."

Orr barked a laugh. "That so?"

"Yes, but you're avoiding the question; why join? Most dwarves seem to respect us, but that's different from wanting to come into the Order. I thought perhaps your people were too few in number to risk it?"

"Well, sure, but my days of having a family are past. Dyin' a little earlier with killin' darkspawn sounds like about what I'd be looking forward to if I stayed in Orzammar, so it's not like I'm changin' that much."

"Do you have a family?"

"Not one that would have me."

"That is something I can certainly understand." They had reached the lip of the ruin, at the top of the stairs down to where the ground had spit open over the Deep Roads. "I won't ask further. I was just curious if you were influenced by the commander being castless as well."

"I'll admit she enters into it. I caught sight of 'er after the Archdemon was slain, y'know. I was in the crowd during the official celebration the king had thrown in Denerim. Gruff little thing with some of the nicest armor I'd seen topside, wearin' bright war-paint, just darin' anyone to try somethin'. She was a duster that owned the world."

Orr had an admiring look to him as he spoke, for lack of a better word. It was a familiar expression, but Nathaniel couldn't place where he'd seen it. "She's certainly a remarkable woman. If I may note, you seem..." He searched for a diplomatic word. "...fascinated when we talk about the commander. Maybe I'm reading into it too much."

"Maybe you are." Orr's tone wasn't particularly hostile, but Nathaniel knew when to shut up and not press forward.

Before it could get awkward, arguing floated up from the caverns below. They had figured it was just a bit of old-fashioned dwarven in-fighting, but as their vantage point changed to allow them to see the groups involved, it became clear that the dwarves were having a heated debate with a different group.

A much taller and uniformly dressed group. "Templars?" Nathaniel wondered aloud. "What on... I swear, they've been sniffing around Amaranthine more and more since the Commander's been gone."

Orr seemed confused as well. "Don't templars chase mages about? What could they possibly want in Kal'Hirol? One of their blood witches run into the Deep Roads?"

"I'd like to say I don't have _any_ idea, but they've been bothering us for a while, now. One of our wardens _is_ an apostate, after all. But Stehldye invoked the Rite, and the king allowed it. There's nothing they can do."

Orr frowned. "Anders, you mean? A human mage seems a piss-poor reason to be bothering unrelated dwarves."

"But our _commander_ is a dwarf, after all, and she's currently in Orzammar. They probably think they're all connected." A sudden smirk lifted the human's face. "Why don't you call them out on it when we get there?"

"What? But I'm not even a Grey Warden, yet."

"You'll do fine." They approached openly. "Good day to you, sers. I hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Although he might not be able to tell the difference between, say, a mining caste dwarf and a smithing caste dwarf, the Legion of the Dead was easily recognizable from the more typically outfitted dwarves at their sides. They all looked particularly angry, though the Legion less-so. Sigrun was also hard to offend, he recalled; a side effect of being symbolically dead no doubt.

The templars didn't look much better, looking as though they had been hitting their heads upon a wall more solid than brick. However, when they recognized Howe as a Grey Warden, relief washed over them that there was now someone they could actually talk to. It would be hilarious if they hadn't been so annoying.

"Good day, Warden. It's lucky that you came today. The Knight-Captain had ordered us to speak with the Warden-Commander, but we're having difficulty getting in contact with her."

"So you figure every sodding one of us knows each other," Orr's growled. As Nathaniel suspected, the accusation made the templars fidget.

"We didn't mean—we apologize if we offend, Warden. We're just following orders."

Orr scoffed, and crossed his arms, unimpressed. The other dwarves did the same, and the templars shifted in their armor. Nathaniel might have felt bad for their discomfort if they had not been such thorns in the side recently.

"Look, human," one of the not-Legion dwarves said with a gesture, "We have a lot of work to do, and you're interrupting it. Orzammar is in a busy state and our people are being stretched out a little thin for work on the new thaig. We're only so close to the surface right now to speak with the wardens, not with a bunch of light-chanting humans in matching skirts."

One of the Legionnaires nodded. "Right. We've already marched back most of our own troops in ready for an assault. If you want to speak to the Paragon, you can follow them in the Deep Roads. 'Course, it was a few days back, so the way might not be _entirely_ clear, anymore."

The templars had obviously given up trying to ascertain more from them by this point, and instead turned their attention towards the warden group. "Sers, if you would perhaps allow us to speak with you or the Warden-Constable in her absence. We have something we wish to discuss concerning one of our rank; he wishes to relinquish his duties as a templar and take part in the Joining."

"A templar wishes to become a warden?"

"It's not so strange, is it? The king had been a templar before he had become a warden. Well, almost a templar. We simply feel it would benefit us both to allow the transition be as smooth as possible."

Nathaniel frowned. "There's not anything 'smooth' about the Joining, but I think I know what you're getting at." _And I don't like it,_ he added silently. This was tantamount to having the templars spy on their conscriptions, watching for any evidence of blood magic, abominations, or uppity apostates. Anders was on the good side of the Circle, currently, but it wasn't guaranteed to last.

But it was either this or have the templars annoy them and their allies at every turn. And it would be easier to keep the templars as permanent allies instead. This may mean the Grey Wardens having their hand forced in the templars direction more often than before, but Stehldye was generally very good at neutrality.

_When she's present. _He wanted to sigh, but held back. "Well, Orr, you may have company on your Joining, yet. Come back with us after our work is done here to Vigil's Keep. We can discuss it further, there."

* * *

Alistair insisted on taking first watch with her as their group caught some sleep at the foothold camp. He had tried to decline this, saying he hadn't yet rested since coming to the Deep Roads (being still on surface time) and citing that it would be wiser to have the wardens spread out a little in the watches. But he didn't relent, reminding her that two are recommended for a watch to ensure the other doesn't fall asleep, and they hadn't actually spoken in months, so he wasn't going to be able to sleep until they did.

And, if she were to admit anything, she'd have to say that she didn't need much convincing. The other men didn't seem as happy with the decision, however.

He was already close enough that they were rubbing shoulders as they started their watch. As the camp quieted down and everyone went to sleep, he only shifted closer, and not so gradually, either. It didn't take long before he was behind her, his heat bathing her back even through their plate armor, wrapped around her as he typically did during the quieter nights at camp.

They had been speaking quietly, catching each other up on what had been happening with one-another. "Will you be going back to Amaranthine when you're done here?"

"I'll have to. A new recruit is waiting at the keep for me. As soon as we've hammered in the first shearing spikes, I'll be off."

"I see. Any way I can convince you to accompany me to the Free Marches, instead?"

"I don't think so, but I'll definitely come with you to Highever. What do you need to do there, anyway?"

"A great deal of refugees fled to Kirkwall, and it's causing some political tension over there. I'm supposed to go and speak with the viscount, make some waves and promises. I wish I could secure some ships to bring people back to Ferelden who wanted, but we're still pretty short on funds. Apparently a civil war in the middle of a Blight does pretty frightening things to a country's treasury."

"Sounds annoying."

"You don't know the half of it. Still, it won't be a long visit. I'll come to Amaranthine as quickly as possible."

"No need to rush yourself. I'll still have your letters in the meantime."

Alistair hummed, and with a rustle, his hand left where it lay haphazardly across her and reappeared with her message, still bound in the lyrium-blue wax. "Speaking of letters..."

If anyone were to look at her face right now, they'd see something between flushed and mortified on it. "Right. I guess there's no point in reading it now that you're here."

"Don't be _silly_, my lady," he said in his almost teasing, jovial voice, almost because it was still low and rough with something other than humor. "That just means I need to read it _immediately_."

Of course it does. And she was excited about it, even as she wondered what had gotten into him that he's being so cavalier about his affections today. With a slip of his fingers between the folds, he popped the seal and he proceeded to unfold the pages. "Well, it looks like you had a lot to say."

"You gave me a lot to talk about."

"Did I?" That made him act more playful and pleased with himself than seductive, and he hugged her close with his free arm.

"Yup."

"Well, I _do_ like giving you things. If only I could give you everything you deserve." He kissed her cheek, and she couldn't help the slightest, gruff giggle at the familiar prickle of his stubble.

"I'm pretty sure a king is able to give plenty enough."

"Hmm." He kissed her face again and settled his chin on her shoulder, putting his attention to the letter. "The way you start is always so colorful. 'Are you sure you don't want to create a scandal? It sounds like fun. Maybe I can convince the court to allow us to take turns on the public floggings.' I think you could, you know, but then there'd be women fainting and I'd have to apologize to a lot of nobles for exposing them to such 'depravity'. Hardly a fun time, even if they don't cut the whole thing short."

"That's too bad."

"It really is." His other hand slid over to her leg, settling his fingers just above the guard at the inside of her knee. She was keenly aware of that little bit of weight through the fabric. "'I should be back in Amaranthine soon, and I'll be sure you'll know exactly when.' Yes, well, I'll still be holding you to that, my dear. Send me a letter once you get to the keep?"

"If I don't, you'll send for me from the Free Marches to explain myself."

"Now there is an idea. Let's see, 'Varel is being annoying', 'fresh meat for the Joining', 'brother-in-law is being a high-collar arse'..."

"I didn't say _high-collar arse_, exactly."

"...Aha! 'So you've been lonely at night, have you? The king is too small for his big bed and he wants his dwarf mistress to help take up some space and warm it up for him? I have to admit, I've always liked the idea of getting in there since I took a glance of it. Especially considering what lays in it during the night."

Hearing him read her words was making her heat up, in embarrassment if nothing else. She never thought herself much of a writer, and even if you took out the sexual nature of much of what she wrote, it still felt too intimate to be spoken aloud. She was sure a misspelling or smudged letter would force him to ask her what she meant, and then she'd have to _explain_ it, which would just ruin... whatever this was.

Actually, why _was_ she so nervous? Usually she's _eager_ to try whatever new things Alistair thinks up on his own, and doubly so when he's feeling openly affectionate. Before she rationalized it as him taking her by surprise, but now...

"You know, it feels a little silly reading this."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I wasn't writing an oratory."

"No, I mean that I should read it when it's in your voice." He placed the pages in her grasp. "Continue for me?"

Her head was full of shouts and dwarven curses as his now fully unhindered hands resettled themselves to the inside of her thigh, just behind the skirted loin-guard where the plate did not cover. It was hard not to be aware of them, or the way his long legs were framing her short ones as they sat, or his scratchy stubble and the slight warm breath on her neck.

She started where he left off. "I—um—wonder, what do you do with those oversized hands of yours then, when you're all alone in that big palace suite bed? Because I miss letting them roam where they like." With a chuckle, they did just that, fingers spreading across the fabric and gripping ever so lightly as if to pull them apart. They didn't, but perhaps only because her thighs spread on their own accord, the armored outside of them pressing into his own legs.

But they didn't move past that; he was waiting for her to proceed. So, she did.

"A-and what do you do with that smart mouth of yours? Would it be too sappy to say I miss your kisses? The ones on my cheek-" He kissed her there again, and she hummed a laugh. "-the ones on my neck-" And his lips traveled down. Well, not traveled so much as dragged once he passed the barrier of her chin, and once he reached the collar of her underclothes, they meandered back up across her skin where they pleased. His leg curled over one of hers, as if to keep her open.

"Of course we can't... _forget_ how cleverly you've learned to use your tongue as—ah!" And it sneaked out to taste her neck between the kisses, and if her breath hadn't already been coming in pants they would have broken into them. "As well as your... your teeth, when they find places to nibble-" Which they did, taking her earlobe into his mouth, lightly rolling it in his teeth, nibbling and sucking, flicking with his tongue just like he would her...

She let the letter drop to the side, no longer even remembering what she was trying to concentrate on. Alistair took it as a signal and shifted over the leg he'd worked between hers, sliding smoothly from behind her to atop, his hands running up and making her arch even as she could not feel them through the armor, and his mouth on hers. It was almost as if he was intent on devouring her, and she always loved his particular vein of devotion.

It didn't _matter_ what had gotten into him, not if _this_ was the result.

The ridged metal on his thigh was grinding insistently into her groin, so much that it would have hurt had her loin-guard not afforded her some shock absorption where he leaned into her. She moaned his name between kisses, and her hands set about blindly groping for the buckles that held on his own borrowed set. She had only just found the strap she wanted to loosen first when that tilted pulse intruded from the back of her head.

She shoved him away, but from the look on his face, he was too busy hearing the same warning to be offended.

"Darkspawn," she gasped, then scrambled for her weapons, Alistair doing the same. They went to meet the would-be ambushers quickly, and though there was an ache she could have done without, especially to do battle with, she silently thanked the Stone for providing a distraction at such an opportune time. With these courtiers and suitors and family obligations and Ancestor's know what else on her plate, a horny human lover was more than a _complication_.

Sod it, it was going to be hard enough to explain her new duties to him _already_.


End file.
